


The Seven Weasley Virtues

by AgeOfAlejandro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Past Character Death, potentially disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgeOfAlejandro/pseuds/AgeOfAlejandro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sinners are always more interesting than the virtuous, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prudence

**Author's Note:**

> Intended to be a companion piece to Kitten Ninja's [Seven Weasley Sins](http://www.blacklupin.org./smf/index.php?topic=423.0).

Pivoting on his right foot, Bill dodged the malignant orange blaze of an incoming hex, letting it slam into the Death Eater behind him. With a wrenching cry, the man went down. With a snapping motion he sent a sizzling yellow curse back, which bound and shook the woman it hit, sending her wand flying. She screamed with fury when the bonds held against her struggling, cursing. He stared at her mildly for a moment and shook his head before tumbling back into the battle.

He ducked and dodged, carefully picking his targets and spells. The more dangerous, he killed. The younger and those not yet damned, he took out of action as gently as possible. It was hard, taking out his former classmates, but it had to be done. It was the only practical thing to do. They could still be saved.

The others-like Lucius Malfoy and Yaxley-were irredeemable and had to be killed. There was no other way.


	2. Hope

The storm clouds were circling, lower and blacker every day. They thundered with the promise of blood and violence, promising an all-out war that would decide—for at least this generation—who held the reigns. Light or dark? Justice or wrath?  
Charlie hoped. It was all one could do in this situation. He had faith in Dumbledore, faith that he could hold off the inevitable storm just long enough for Harry, his brother's best friend, to come into his own.

That last morning, the last morning he would ever see the face of Dumbledore before he was tucked away in the snowy marble mausoleum, Charlie could but hope that he had succeeded.


	3. Temperance

Percy was very proud that he was moderate in all things. He didn't drink much, he didn't sleep around (he didn't consider three to be too many), and he comported himself the way a modest, sober person should.

When it came to the war that Dumbledore claimed was brewing, he also felt he was moderate—especially in comparison to his _family._ He certainly believed Potter thought he saw You Know Who rise from the dead, but it was common knowledge boy was delusional. Percy's family, on the other hand, was fanatically loyal to Dumbledore and believed every word that dropped from Potter's lips.

He hadn't felt much like he was betraying them when he left home; _they_ were betraying both the Ministry and himself. They were ruining his chances at a better life than the one his father had provided! Whereas Arthur Weasley allowed his family to suffer near-poverty because he was _happy_ in his little known and almost useless department, Percy would not. His family would have the best of everything and his children would never suffer hand-me-downs. He would do better— _be_ better—than his father.


	4. Justice

They deserved it. People had no sense of humor and therefore deserved to be mocked and teased and confused into having one. Fred thought Percy especially took himself far too seriously. Therefore pranking him was infinitely more hilarious. He puffed up like an offended rooster and clucked with disdain and disapproval, making Fred hoot with laughter. His brother would puff up even more at that and disappear in a whirl of red and black.

Fred would smirk and saunter after him, picking at his feathers and watching him squawk. Eventually, Percy would retreat to his dorm or bedroom and Fred would rejoin his twin to plot more mayhem and mischief. He so enjoyed making people laugh—when he wasn't mocking Percy.


	5. Charity

George could not help but sigh when his twin went after Percy like a cat playing with a half dead and frantic mouse. Sure, Percy was a twat and sometimes he wanted to punch him in the face, but Percy had some issues and therefore deserved some lee way. He loved his twin to death—Fred was his best friend and confederate but sometimes he took it too far, even in their own private prank wars. He always forgave his brother, sometimes when he didn't want to.

He tried to be nice to others wherever possible. Even though he was a lazy sod, George understood and mastered everything he was taught. He tutored others when they thought to ask him (which wasn't often—everyone saw them as merry tricksters and never saw their minds) and usually his students returned. Fred teased him, suggesting he start charging for his services. George would shake his head.

"We're bad enough, twin of mine, without charging ickle firsties and silly seconds for my help. Besides, we have to find our successors, don't we?"

"Mmm, very true. Can't let McGonners rest after we're gone. Got to keep her on her toes."

"Otherwise she might keel over from sheer boredom," George laughed.


	6. Courage

_Ohgodohgodohgod_ , Ron thought as he hurried through the woods, wanting nothing less than to return to Harry and Hermione. He had _abandoned_ them right when they needed him most!

He ducked under branches, tumbled over hidden roots and logs, and raced through brambles on the snowy forest floor, ignoring the thrones that raked across his skin and tugged at his clothing. The Deluminator grew warm in his hand and he abruptly came to a halt, hurriedly putting it next to his ear and trying to calm his heaving lungs; he could barely hear them.  
 _"I can't believe Ron left us, Harry! How could he_ do _that?"  
"I don't know, Hermione. I really don't..."_

The device grew hot and he knew they were close! The heat narrowed to a point and Ron followed it as it wound and wove across the silver surface as he dashed through the woods. He slowed as he entered a clearing and the Deluminator flared once with an intense heat before going stone cold. Chest heaving, Ron searched the circle of trees and saw a panicking Hermione standing on the edge of a pond, screaming at the ice.  
"Harry!" she cried, her voice filled with pain and fear. "Harry, _please!_ " Her empty fists clenched helplessly.

In an instant, a bundle of emotions—fear for his friend's life, panic, and a desire for redemption—flooded his mind and he bolted through the snowy meadow. Hermione didn't have time to stop him as he raced passed her and dove into the water. His lungs contracted as he hit the freezing cold water and bubbles burst out of his mouth. In a moment of airless clarity, he thought to cast a spell that would let him see underwater—the Bubble Head charm came to mind and then he could breathe!

Harry appeared not two feet from him and was struggling for the surface, a huge sword clenched in one hand; he was fading fast. Ron reached out and pulled Harry towards himself and then fought toward the surface. After a long struggle, he managed to get Harry, the sword, and himself out of the water.

Harry coughed up a lungful of ice water and met his anxious gaze with a glazed one that sharpened into wariness and anger.  
"I'm sorry!" Ron said immediately. "I'm so, _so_ sorry!" He knew every ounce of guilt and sorrow showed on his face and didn't give a damn. He wanted them back! As Hermione slipped and skidded her way across the ice, the story poured from his lips and Harry's expression shifted to one of understanding. Hermione collapsed on top of Harry, hugging him tightly even though he was soaking wet. She looked at Ron and her eyes narrowed. She snatched the wand from Harry's stiff fist, firing a volley of hexes at him. _"Traitor!"_ she hissed furiously.

"I can explain, Hermione! Just give me a chance, please," Ron pleaded as Harry fought her for the wand. "Just let me say my piece and then you can push me in the lake and seal it over," he said desperately as he dodged a rather lethal looking spell.

Her expression was cold and sharp, her brown eyes nailing him to the ice behind him. "Speak," she bit out.


	7. Faith

Ginny knew Harry would come through. How or when he would do so, she didn't know and that worried her. Every morning found her anxiously awaiting the morning owl deliveries, praying that Harry's capture or death would not be in the news or coded in a letter from her mother. Ginny worried every day that Neville, Luna, and Seamus would die fighting the Death Eaters at school, or that her family would be killed before Harry could fulfill the prophecy.

Such worries haunted her dreams every night. Visions of her brothers bathed in blood or images of Neville, Luna, Seamus and the others lying still, so _still,_ at the feet of Death Eaters and surrounded by shattered glass. Ginny would toss and turn and the dreams would shift like sand in the wind, becoming stills of her mother's decapitated head resting in the grass or glimpses of Harry's charred body lying on some unknown battlefield, ashes drifting off his corpse in the breeze like flower petals from a tree in spring.

But at the end of every dream, no matter how bad, how bloody, Harry had triumphed. Light had pierced the veil of the dark and the sun would rise above the hills to see a world without Voldemort.


End file.
